Do you remember being like 5 years old?
Like before things got weird.
Before you had any idea about proprieties or giving a hot damn about much of anything other than following whatever bliss you had inside your head at that exact second.
Wasn’t that the shit?!
We may have grown up on the outside, but I know beyond the shadow of a doubt, that we’re still all just little kids on the inside… running around trying to get our needs met as best we know how.
And you know what doesn’t meet ANY of MY needs? Labels.
Like who says I have to be anything? And if I have to choose, why does it have to be just ONE thing??
Feminine or not. Christian or not. Straight or not. Lesbian or not. Therapist or coach or psychosexualspiritualhealer.
Okay so that last one may be my attempt to cram lots of job titles into one if you’re going to ask me to pick.
At 5, I was nothing and I was everything. All at once.
In my imaginative universe, I was a fabulous model-actress-gymnast-ballerina-cheerleader-president-fly girl on “In Living Color” just like J Lo-visionary who talked to angels, AND I had a bad ass self-esteem to boot.
Bubbles and Bliss
When I tap back into Source (you can call it whatever suits you best), I give that little girl permission to BE.
She feels like effervescence to me…bubbly bliss…champagne and pop rocks. Ka-pow!!
It’s the, “Look ma! No hands!” kinda feeling.
The “I know you are, but what am I?” kinda feeling. Because again, I reject your labels.
People often say, “Follow your bliss” but what the fuck does that even mean when you have a mortgage and Obamacare?
I’ll tell you what I rediscovered today – BLISS IS BUBBLES.
Not the “hipster, meditate as much as you can to try and stay tripped out bliss.”
And not the “I will wear enough crystals to make a geologist cry so I can keep my chakras ever so aligned bliss“…Just no.
It’s the “I will approach every situation with awe, wonder, and maybe even a little irreverence” that is totally befitting a 5 year old bliss.
What does 5 year old me have? MAGIC.
The kind of magic that sees my clients as utterly breathtaking pieces of the universe choosing to adorn herself in various shades of human flesh.
Magic that connects with another human being so deeply neither of us can tell where our separateness ends.
Magic that still believes in true love and fighting for the underdog every time.
And magic that doesn’t need your pretty fucking container with a label on it. Because it’s fucking MAGIC.
Now please excuse me while I go and blow some bubbles…
Even therapists need therapists. Coaches need coaches. Yoga instructors need other yoga instructors.
Sometimes we just get too close to the forest to be able to see the trees. We know something is off but we can’t place our finger on it.
And the longer this experience ruminates in our soul and our mind, the harder it can become to see our way out.
That’s where intuitive healers come in. Whether you prefer a therapist, life coach, priest, Pastor, yoga instructor, acupuncturist, massage therapist, doesn’t matter. Find you someone who connects with you on a truly transcendent level!
I found my magic again with one of my own coaches. Effervescent and soul stirring bliss. The kind that brings cathartic tears and inner girly squeals at the same time. I only pray you have someone who does that for you too!
Meet the Author:
More recently, she founded Tales from a Trapezoid dedicated to the more raw and edgier side of life, working with those who may often feel like a trapezoid in a world full of circles.
As a licensed therapist, Tamara specializes in the non-traditional both in identity exploration and relationship issues. With a background both in conventional psychology as well as energy work and so much more, she integrates multiple healing modalities to best suit her clients.
When not working with clients, she is busy trying to keep up with her daughters, now 13 and 11, who are giving her a run for her money, not that she ever expected anything less!.
If you’re interested in working with her, you can learn more about her services here.
©Tales From a Trapezoid, 2016. All rights reserved.